


Give the Bruises Out Like Gifts

by coolasdicks



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M, Neglect, Soulmate AU, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 22:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1320958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolasdicks/pseuds/coolasdicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt Fill:</p>
<p> "Hey, hello, prompt maybe? So, I read this post: "maybe the little bruises and cuts that show up on your body seemingly out of nowhere are actually little injuries that happened to your soulmate and you get the same marks on your skin as them", and thought that it would be awesome to read as a AHOT6 fic? Pretty please?"</p>
<p>and</p>
<p>"Hi! I would love to see an ahot6 soulmate fic where Michael and Geoff are the first to figure out that they’re all soul mates? p.s. you’re really talented:)"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give the Bruises Out Like Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> okay this ended up... so long. so long. there's like an entire convoluted subplot behind it that is basically a story in itself, and its teased at constantly through the fic. that's why it sorta feels like you're only getting part of the story
> 
> the ages are changed slightly to make it less creepy. Geoff is 30, Jack and Ryan are both 25, Gavin is 21, and Ray and Michael are 18. its fairly michael and geoff-centric

Michael thought it was normal.

Every touch laid upon his pale skin, every mark that came to mar his flesh, every harsh word spoken in the dead of night, whether it was about a failing grade or his very existence – all of it, Michael thought, was well-deserved. It was all he _knew._ How was he supposed to know it wasn’t normal, it was right, when it was what he was raised into?

He did something bad, he got punished.

It made perfect sense.

Only when he was sixteen, did he realize that this _wasn’t_ normal. His friends, few and shitty as they were, did not come to school hiding bruises under their sleeves. They did not spout lies about not knowing where the cuts came from, how the circle-shaped burns appeared ‘mysteriously’ in abstract patterns up and down his arms. Michael liked to console himself with the weak truth that came with saying _well, I don’t know where that one came from_ because occasionally it was true. He didn’t remember where that particular bruise or cut came from, which concerned him in its own right, but it made his words sound a little more believable.

Looking back on it, he probably could’ve saved himself a lot of scars if he’d just sucked up his pride and called child services. He had enough proof – he _was_ the proof. Roll up one sleeve and his parents would be arrested within minutes.

But instead of saving himself and exposing his parents’ wrongdoing, he was even more frantic to hide the marks, to hide the embarrassment, the pure weakness. What kind of pathetic, frail, sorry excuse for a man was he when he couldn’t even stand up for himself at home? He couldn’t explain it, especially to himself, what happened in his brain when he crossed the threshold of what was every other kid’s safe haven. As soon as he was through the doorway, his strong will shriveled up somewhere near his gut and he was once again the curled up four year old cowering in the corner of his bedroom praying that his dad was feeling generous, praying that he would only leave a few bruises in places he could hide.

It was fucking pathetic, and Michael wasn’t about to let anyone see that.

High school was the worst. It was a harder place to make friends, so Michael went through the years without any. He liked to tell himself that it was actually better this way, because then he didn’t have to make up absurd excuses for why he couldn’t go out with them. He stayed out well into the morning hours most nights if only to escape the hands of his father and words of his mother, and honestly, the quiet time with his own mind as he sat by the lake or on the hill was worth the sleepless nights. Heaven knows he didn’t get any at home.

By senior year, he wasn’t really sure how he was still alive. He’d been kicked out of school for missing too many days and his body was beginning to seriously suffer from so many years of abuse not only from its parents but from its owner. Michael wasn’t exactly keen on keeping himself fed or taken care of. It was a little hard to when his parents ate all the food and the fridge was always used for storing drugs.

If irony came in any form, it was his parents’ drug dealer. Her name was Griffon, and Michael was pretty sure she was the only human on the planet who had a speck of care in her heart for him. He looked forward to when she came over, not because of the little bag strapped to her hip like his parents, but because she often had food for him, and maybe some kind words, though his parents would fucking kick his ass when they found him talking to her. She stopped coming around when he was first kicked out of school, but he still remembered the stories she would murmur to him while stroking his hair; stories about other worlds, stories about what happened after death, stories about magic and fantasy, stories about soulmates and lost love, stories about better places and good feelings. Some stuck with him more than others, and some even turned into dreams late at night when he was sleeping on a park bench or the pile of trash bags back behind his house.

He cherished those stories. They were his only relief, the only getaway he was allowed, even if it was only for a few hours. His favorite was the soulmate one. That someone in the world was perfectly made for you, and you were perfectly made for them. He had dreams about it, but it was a different person each time. He never saw them very clearly, but each had a very distinct feel in the way they treated him. One was playful and giddy, one was joyful and doting. One was a bit competitive but fun, and another was attentive and passionate, the last protective and a bit overwhelming. All very different interactions with him. All with love.

It was so disappointing to wake up. He wished he could just be asleep forever, with his imaginary people. Griffon had filled his head with tales of random details about their soulmates – how their heartbeats were always in synch. How their dreams were shared, their minds connected by the invisible thread that tied their hearts together. She mentioned that their physical bodies were also bound, that the small scars and scores on your body were marks that your mate received directly. Michael sorta hoped that one wasn’t true – if it was, he would be one shitty soulmate, butchering his partner’s body like that.

When Griffon disappeared, with her she took the fun out of his daydreaming, but he clung to the few. He wanted desperately to believe that she hadn’t told him lies. He wanted love, even if he didn’t deserve it. He wanted better places and good feelings, even if he wouldn’t know what to do with them.

He needed something more than this.

He found it in a weird place.

\---

Three months after his eighteenth birthday, Michael made debatably the stupidest decision of his life.

Standing in front of his closet, Michael felt a dull sort of sadness reverberate through his bones. The shirts to pick from were few in number, each one serving as a grim reminder of where he’d got it from. Most were stolen. Only one was ever given to him, and it was a gift from Griffon.

He plucked that one out first, calloused fingers gliding over the smooth, black material. He hadn’t worn it since trying it on the first time, where Griffon had demanded he put on a short fashion show. She hadn’t commented on the tears in his eyes, but criticized his walk before showing him how a runway strut was _really_ done.

Purely for a sentimental value, he folded it carefully and placed it at the bottom of his bag. He knew he wasn’t going to wear it, preserving his favorite shirt for as long as he could, but he wanted it with him. It meant a lot more than all these other shirts, the few dangling from hangers littered with holes and stains, but those were the only ones he felt he should wear.

He shoved those in the backpack before moving onto the pants strewn across the trash-covered floor, picking up his second pair of blue jeans and tossing them in. His only other pair was the one he was wearing.

“Fucking hell,” he cursed when the zipper got stuck on his bag. He jerked at it violently, clipping his index finger in the process. “God dammit.”

Giving up halfway through, Michael slung it over his shoulder, tucking it safely behind him and snorting at the fact that this small, red backpack held all of his personal possessions. He could hear the hydrogen peroxide sloshing around in the bottle when he turned towards the door, steeling himself for the shitstorm about to occur.

He had to shoulder his way through the opening, two foul-smelling black trash bags propped up against his door. The smell of weed and a faint chemical-like odor was thick on the other side, Michael’s nose crinkling as he fought back a gag. Waving smoke away from his face, he climbed his way to the living room, tripping and stumbling his way over the designated ‘trash area’ that his parents set, conveniently right outside his bedroom door. He supposed it was better than his actual room, though that wasn’t much to boast regardless. His ‘room’ consisted of… well, nothing. There was no furniture, no posters on the walls, and no glass in the window. There were bars, however, a cruel joke played on him to trap him inside but unable to escape whatever type of weather drifted in. Living in Jersey, most of it was rather cold.

The front door was hanging open, just barely hanging onto its hinges. A cold breeze rocked it from time to time, but his parents seemed utterly disinterested as they lay sprawled out on the couches. Michael grabbed his shoes from the front door and pulled them on, the Converse fitting a bit loose.

His mom’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of his shuffling. Brown eyes rolled around wildly around the room before landing on her son, and a nasty grin spread across her face, her meth-yellowed teeth peaking out from behind her bloody and cracked lips.

“Where you goin’?” she grunted out, voice hoarse. Her arm flopped off the couch, fingers searching against the carpet for the needle just off to her right. They closed around it and she brought it close to her face, squinting to see if there was any liquid left.

“I’m leaving,” Michael answered, tying his shoelace tightly. He wondered if she was so out of her mind that she couldn’t see the backpack.

“Ha,” she snorted, digging the needle into the crook of her red-dotted elbow. Michael cringed. “Good luck with that, faggot boy,” she said, waving. “You’ll make it real fucking far.”

“Thanks,” Michael said bitingly, and even after all these years the words still managed to sting.

“I hope you die,” she sighed, closing her eyes as the drug worked its magic. She gave a rather repulsive moan. “Then we won’t have to see your fucking ugly face ‘round here anymore. Weight off our back.”

“Right,” Michael said, tying the other shoe on. His shaking fingers fumbled with the lace.

“Little shitstain,” she muttered. “Where ya gonna go, huh, faggot? Gonna go under the bridge? Get paid to suck off fucking homeless people? I bet, you faggot. You fucking disgusting freak – you make any money blowing old men, you spend it on drugs, dontcha? Get face-fucked you fucking – where you going?”

Michael slammed the door behind him, ignoring how it just bounced off the frame and hung open once more. His mother continued to scream at him, and he ducked out of reflex when something hit the door, glass shattering and speckling the ground next to him. She’d thrown the needle. He almost laughed.

“Whatcha gonna do now, dumb bitch?” he yelled, heart pounding. With his anger fueling his words, the Jersey accent was thick in his tone. “That was your last one, unless you wanna get an infection again! And this time you won’t have me to fucking nurse you back to health!”

She fell silent. Michael could hear her scrambling around, most likely to find either another needle or something else to throw at him. He quickly ran to the chain-link fence that closed them off from the rest of the shitty neighborhood and climbed over it, groaning when the seat of his jeans got caught on the stray wires. He heard fabric ripping as he fell onto the concrete on the other side. The pain of his elbows colliding with the rough ground didn’t even faze him as he clambered to his feet.

“Ouch,” he said mindlessly, reaching his hands back to make sure his backpack was intact. Satisfied, Michael glanced back at the shack that was his home for his eighteen years of life. It was sad, but he felt no connection to the broken down structure. He walked away without much hesitation.

“I’m not going to the bridge,” he told himself, shaking his head. “Why would I ever go there? I don’t want to get mugged of my four shirts.”

He ran a hand through his overgrown hair, moving it out of his eyes. In all truth, Michael had no clue where he was headed. He’d tried this before, back when he was eight. He made it to the neighborhood over before realizing he was going to die out there alone and came back. He’d received one hell of an ass beating and hadn’t made a repeat performance.

Squinting through the darkness, Michael studied each little shithole of a house and was happy to see that no lights were on. His mother’s screaming was nothing new. In fact, everyone in this neighborhood was probably just as high, if not more so. There had been two overdoses this month alone.

It was freezing out. The skin of his arms was covered with goosebumps as he walked down the sidewalk, gazing listlessly around to see if someone was going to approach him. He heard the local scroungers shuffling around in someone’s trash nearby, but the streetlight was too dim for him to see past a few feet in front of him. He shivered and pulled his shirt closer to him, the material hanging off his thin frame not providing much insulation.

“Maybe I’ll look for Griffon,” he muttered, licking his chapped lips. He narrowed his eyes at nothing in particular. “Maybe I’ll find a jacket.”

Find, of course, meant steal. It sounded better aloud, however, if he just said find.

As he walked out of the slums, he continued to talk to himself. It was a bit of a talent of his, that ability to keep up a continuous conversation with basically no one. It was learned from years of experience; Michael knew that if you looked batshit crazy, such as talking to yourself or acting generally insane, no one would bother you. Crazy didn’t mess with crazy.

“Hey, kid.”

It didn’t work with everyone.

Michael jumped and whirled around. He was in town now, mindlessly looking into each of the stores’ windows, not planning to break in or anything, but letting his mind fantasize about what he could buy if he had money. Someone had crept out from behind him, having been standing in the gap between two of the stores. Tall and looking a little lumpy under his winter coat, he looked Michael up and down with a lecherous grin.

“I’m not buying,” Michael said flatly, watching as the man’s eyes narrowed, his grin vanishing.

“I ain’t selling,” the man snapped, tucking his hands in his pockets. “The fuck’s the matter with you, kid?”

Michael watched him saunter away, knowing it was a rhetorical question. Rolling his eyes, he continued down the strip of stores, peering in each window and probably looking extremely suspicious. His thin-threaded shirt was doing a very poor job of keeping his body warm and soon his teeth were chattering, muscles quivering from the cold.

He spent a lot of time outside of the house. He knew where the local drug deals went down, knew where to look if he wanted to ask about his friend. That in itself, however, could very possibly be dangerous. He knew he looked like a bit of a punk – if someone came around asking for a drug dealer, it would look extremely shady. He didn’t look like the killing type, or the revenge type.

The park was deserted when he got there. Not surprising – it was nearing three in the morning.

“Everyone knows most of the drug deals only happen at _two_ ,” Michael said smartly to the empty air around him as he took a seat on a bench. _The_ bench, where everyone knew to go for the good stuff. He breathed in the fresh air and savored it, his lungs working harder than a normal eighteen year old’s to get as much as the oxygen in as possible. Years of being subjected to second-hand smoking had probably just _ruined_ his respiratory system.

He bit his lip when the sun began to rise. Maybe he’d been stupid to turn down the guy who’d approached him earlier. He was fairly sure that that man hadn’t been associated with the local dealers, therefore unhelpful to his efforts, but it had could’ve been a start.

“I could go to the bridge,” he murmured, rubbing his dry eyes. The words made his insides tighten. That was mom’s suggestion, and even if she wasn’t here, he was still reluctant to prove her right.

“What are you doing here?”

Michael spun around, shock blocking the words in his throat. He hadn’t heard that voice in months, and even looking at her made his stomach drop out his asshole. He stood up from the bench in a hurry, as if the wood had burned him through his clothes.

She’d shaved the side of her head since he saw her last. The septum piercing was the same as always and glinted in the clean morning light, but the frown she had while looking at him cut Michael deeper than anything his mother could ever say.

When he did nothing but stare at her in wonder, she had to repeat herself. “What are you doing here, Michael?”

“I – I was looking for you,” he said through chattering teeth. She looked at him with concern before shrugging out of her jacket and tossing it to him. He shook his head, but she cut him off with a stern glare. He struggled into it, the warmth much welcomed and calming his jumping skin.

“You shouldn’t be sitting on this bench,” she said angrily, crossing her toned arms.

“Why did you leave?” Michael asked bluntly, looking at her desperately. Her eyes softened.

“Your parents stopped buying from me,” she said evasively.

“Bullshit, they bitched about having to find someone new for weeks,” Michael argued, his voice shaking. “You left.”

Griffon shook and bowed her head, looking at the ground. “I couldn’t sell to them anymore,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. But it was easier for everyone.”

“It obviously wasn’t,” Michael said in a hurt tone. His heart was beating wildly. He suddenly forgot why he ever wanted to find her, even while knowing she wanted nothing more to do with him. He floundered for words before realizing what was plaguing his heart. “I – I wanted to thank you, actually.”

She looked up at him, surprised. “Thank me?”

“I’m leaving,” Michael said. Her eyebrows shot up. “I’m eighteen. They can’t stop me anymore.”

“Michael –” she started in a warning voice, but Michael interrupted her.

“I’m thinking Texas,” he said, smiling to himself. “It’s not cold down there. Austin is a lot nicer, isn’t it?”

“And how do you plan on getting down there?” she asked, and Michael was surprised to hear fear in her voice. Looking at her closely, he realized she looked scared.

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “Maybe hitchhiking. Maybe sneaking into the bed of a truck. We’ll see.”

Griffon shook her head. “Terrible idea,” she snapped. “That will get you shot.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Michael demanded, and he was asking for an answer. A real one. “Fucking live with them for the rest of my life? I’m an adult now – I can start new, somewhere else!”

“You were dealt a shitty hand,” Griffon said calmly, arms still crossed. Her hands gripped at her biceps as if she were itching to hit something. “But running away –”

“Fuck you,” Michael said angrily. “’Running away’ – I’m not _running away,_ I’m fucking leaving!”

“Hey,” she said sharply in a tone that instantly made Michael quiet. “Don’t talk to me like that. The last thing I am is your enemy.”

He nodded in agreement, keeping his head low.

“Going off some place with no money, no real clothes, and no plan is stupid and dangerous,” Griffon said. “Is that what you came here to do? Tell me you were off to go and kill yourself?”

“Why are you so bitter towards me?” Michael shot. Her eyes darkened. “You – you left, what else am I supposed to do? This is my best option.”

She sighed, uncrossing her arms to place her hands on her hips. Shaking her head, she said, “No, it’s not. Come with me.”

He followed her obediently, fighting back the excitement budding in his brain. He appraised her carefully, noting that she was looking a little thinner since the last time he’d seen her. She had two more tattoos decorating her hands and favored her right side as he walked forward, leading him into a near town. He bit his tongue to hold back the many questions he ached to ask. She was clearly not thrilled to see him.

“How’ve you been?” she asked suddenly, not turning around.

“Uh –” he hesitated, unsure of how to answer that. Terrible? Sick? Miserable? “Good… I’ve been good.”

She was quiet for a long pause. “And your parents?”

He gritted his teeth. “Same old.”

She didn’t say anything.

“How are you?” Michael asked.

“Busy,” she said vaguely. “Lots of art being sold.”

“You’re not dealing?” Michael said, unable to keep the happiness from his tone. He could see her flinch from over her shoulder; she’s always known that he hated her career choice.

“Not as much,” she answered. “I’ve been working a lot with spray paints, actually –”

And she was off. Michael smiled as he listened to her familiar rambling, letting the words he didn’t really understand wash over him as she chatted excitedly about her most recent painting. Her voice was lyrical and melodic, the motherly type that Michael had never known. Maybe that was why he’d grown so attached to her. The thought made him feel silly and a little embarrassed, especially since she’d just picked up and left without caring. He tried not to hold it against her; she had just been doing her job.

“Michael?”

“Huh?”

He refocused his gaze on her, realizing she must’ve asked him something since she was looking over her shoulder at him.

“I said are you hungry?”

“Oh,” Michael said, feeling a pang in his chest at the echo of the first words she’d ever said to him. “Yeah,” he said, knowing she’d feed him even if he said no.

Stopping, she dug around in the pockets of her oversized cargo pants before pulling out four granola bars. He plucked two from her grip, but she shoved the rest of them in his hands, too. Grumbling, he shoved three into his back pocket and unwrapped one, devouring it in a minute flat.

This time as she resumed walking, Griffon walked next to him. She eyed him carefully, probably making sure he ate, which wasn’t really an issue. Michael had moved past the stage of hunger, skipped over the hunger pangs, and dove directly into that empty-gut feeling, accompanied by a bit of weakness.

“I met someone,” she said abruptly, staring at the side of Michael’s face. He glanced at her in surprise.

“Really?” he said after swallowing his mouthful. He grinned at her. “Who is it? Are they nice?”

“Not like that,” she laughed, and the noise made Michael’s insides warm. He swallowed thickly.

“Well, that’s generally what that means when you say you’ve met someone,” Michael grumbled, cheeks pink.

“You didn’t let me finish,” she said, grinning. “I think you’ll get along with him. I’d like to introduce you.”

Michael gave her a funny look. “You didn’t even want to see me a few hours ago,” he pointed out.

She frowned. “That’s not true, Michael, you know it’s not. It’s not that I didn’t want to see you – I – you’ll understand. I just couldn’t sell to your parents knowing that you lived there.”

“Would it have made a difference if I lived somewhere else?” Michael questioned, slightly irritated. Not waiting for an answer, he continued, “And you had to just up and leave. You didn’t even say bye, or that you weren’t coming around anymore.”

“I didn’t know that would be the last time,” she said quietly, glancing at him before quickly looking away. “We’re here,” she said, opening the door to a shop in the corner of a small plaza. Michael looked around, confused.

“This is it?”

“Yeah, and it would be nice if you hurried up and got inside,” she said pointedly, waving Michael inside before closing the door behind them both. She flicked the lights on, revealing what looked like just an average bar, with a long wooden slab cutting off the back quarter of the room and many tables covering the floor.

He sighed in relief. It was toasty in here, and he was glad to give Griffon her jacket back. She hesitated before taking it, however, and after giving him a long look, she said, “Keep it. I got plenty.”

He didn’t argue, shoving it in his mostly empty backpack before following her back behind the bar.

“Is it okay to leave it unlocked?” he asked, eyeing the door. She shrugged.

“Should be fine. Now c’mon. You look homeless dressed like that.”

“I _am_ homeless,” he said, but his heart skipped a beat at the prospect of new clothes, specifically pants. She must be doing extremely well money-wise to be giving away free shit.

She led him in the far back of the building, turning into what looked like a long hallway. He stared at it, confused. It looked nothing like the rest of the building, all oak walls and two doors at the far end. She unlocked the bedroom and he trailed after her cautiously, watching apprehensively as she dug through a drawer in the dark. His eyes didn’t adjust until she turned on the light. He stared around dumbly – it was a bedroom, complete with a twin-sized bed, two boxes supporting a lamp and charging station for a phone, and a chest of drawers sitting tucked in the corner.

Griffon inspected a few different articles of clothing, sniffing each before tossing him a large, thick tee shirt that smelled faintly of male’s cologne and deodorant. It was clean, but Michael had a feeling it belonged to someone by the scent engrained in the fabric. He held it at arm’s length as if he might infect it.

“Whose is this?” he asked, wrinkling his nose, though it didn’t smell bad at all. If anything, it actually smelled quite nice.

“Yours now,” she said simply, closing the top drawer before digging around in the one underneath it. Grinning to herself, she unraveled a large pair of pants and threw them at him, too. “Also yours.”

“Whose are _these_?” Michael demanded, barely catching the pants. “And these are way too big.”

“Not for long,” Griffon said, sounding determined and standing up. “Hurry up and change – and stop looking at me like that. Geoff won’t mind – er, uh –”she faltered, obviously not having meant to say the name. She grimaced but didn’t say anything more.

Michael made a discontented sound, but couldn’t refuse the offer of clean clothes. He shifted from foot to foot as she stood there, looking at him expectantly. “I’m not changing in front of you,” he said awkwardly, heat rising to his cheeks.

“Oh my god,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Sounds fucking familiar. Okay, but I’m right outside the door.”

Michael sighed when she left, closing the door behind her. He made quick work of stripping from his dirty, ratty old clothes and got goosebumps of pleasure when finally in the new ones, the feel of soft cloth on his skin foreign yet comforting. The smell surrounded him and honestly, he wasn’t going to complain. He embraced it, pulling the neck of the shirt up to press it to his nose and inhale deeply.

The pants were indeed extremely baggy. He had to clutch at the waistband to keep them up. Creeping up to the door, he muttered through the wood, “Grif –”

She barged in, smacking him in the shoulder with the door in the process and scanned him up and down, hand on her chin and frowning. “Definitely needs a belt,” she decided. “I don’t think he has any smaller sized jeans than that. Are you good on shoes?” she asked, all the while critically eyeing his footwear.

“My shoes are fine,” Michael said hastily.

“Mm,” she hummed, pulling a belt out of the third drawer and offering it to him. The look in her eyes was startlingly soft. When he hesitated, she gently asked, “Do you know how these work?”

She wasn’t even kidding.

Michael snatched it, feeling a blush rising to his cheeks. “Of course I do,” he said. He’d never actually used one, but it had to be simple enough.

She started laughing at him when he just fastened it messily over the waistband. He stopped fidgeting with it to glare at her until she moved forward to help him, knocking his hands out of the way to unbuckle it and start weaving it through the loops. Michael flushed in embarrassment and muttered a quiet, “Oh.”

“There,” she said, backing up and looking at him. She smiled. “You look so cute.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled, but smiled dopily with her.

Beaming at him, she gestured for him to come with her out of the room. “Let’s get some food.”

She cooked him eggs. Michael had never had them before, but before he knew it, he was already on his fourth plate of the scrambled mush. She watched with a sad smile, happy to make him as much as he wanted, but the vigor in which he ate probably seemed pathetic. As he began to slow down, she slid into the barstool next to his, her own plate stacked high.

“Why Texas?” she asked a few minutes into a comfortable silence.

Michael twisted his mouth. “It’s warm,” he said through a mouthful of food.

“So is Florida, or Georgia, or a lot of state. California is quite nice,” she said, looking curious.

“I don’t know,” Michael said, shrugging as he shoved another forkful into his mouth. “I just like the idea of Texas. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Had a dream about it, too.”

She hummed and nodded, taking another bite, much tamer than Michael’s. “I’ve been to Texas,” she said casually. Michael looked at her. “It’s lovely. Rolling hills, very green. A little hot, but it’s a dry heat.”

Michael didn’t even know what that meant, but nodded in appreciation. “How were the people?” he asked.

“Nice,” she said. “Very nice. Especially in Austin. Is that where you were planning to go?”

“That’s the capital, right?” he said uneasily, unsure of whether or not he was right. He didn’t want Griffon to laugh at him.

“Yep.”

“Then yeah, I think that’s where I want to go,” Michael said, smiling dreamily. His stomach was starting to ache from so much food and he pushed away the half-eaten plate.

Griffon was quiet as she finished the rest of her meal, looking contemplative with each bite. Michael leaned back in his chair and groaned, the feeling of his stomach being full unfamiliar and a little uncomfortable. He stretched and sighed in comfort, sleepiness tugging at his tired eyes.

“What’s that from?” Griffon suddenly asked, sounds abruptly cross. Michael glanced at her and followed her gaze to his elbow, a small stain of blood blooming in the fabric of the borrowed shirt. He paled.

“Oh – shit, I ruined it. Griffon, I didn’t mean to –”

“It’s fine, I already told you its yours,” she said, sounding annoyed he hadn’t answered her question. “I’ll get you a new one, one that’s not blood stained. What’s that from?”

“I just fell over the fence last night,” he explained. “It’s always locked ‘cause they lost the key.”

She looked dissatisfied with his answer and pushed away her empty plate. Hopping off the stool, she poured two large glasses of ice water and handed one to Michael.

“Will you sleep here?”

Michael bit his lip. “Well,” he said slowly. “You’re not going to make me go back or anything, are you?”

Griffon didn’t look at him, busying herself with stirring her water pointlessly. They both watched in dull fascination as the ice shifted around.

“No,” she finally said. “You’re eighteen now. There’s nothing I can do if you don’t want to do it.”

Michael wasn’t a huge fan of that answer, but it was better than her saying yes. He wished she supported him in his decision. “Then yeah, I’ll sleep on the floor or something –”

“Funny,” she said dryly. “C’mon, dork. And bring your water with you, I’m doing not doing that ‘can you get me a glass of water’ bullshit.”

Michael grinned and slid off the chair, clutching his untouched drink to his chest as he trailed after Griffon, his heart feeling oddly warm. She shuffled him into the small room and rolled her eyes at the clothes he’d left all over the floor.

“Really?” she asked sarcastically, bending down to pluck them off the floor. “Don’t make me pick up after you.”

“Sorry,” Michael smiled, sitting on the edge of the bed. She rolled her eyes again.

“If you sleep in the nude, you should probably tell me.”

“I don’t,” Michael said heatedly.

“Good. I’m sure Geoff wouldn’t mind, but I don’t think you’d appreciate being walked in on,” she said jokingly, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a genuine smile, and despite her teasing words, Michael couldn’t help the smile he relayed back to her.

“Shut up,” he said kindly, stretching out on the warm comforter.

“Where’s your backpack?” she asked, looking to where he pointed at the corner of the room. He didn’t mind her digging through it, but cocked his head in confusion when she pulled out the bottle of peroxide. She pulled a rag from her back pocket and sat on the bed right next to him, her weight causing him to lean to the side.

Without speaking, she rolled up the oversized sleeve of his right elbow and narrowed her eyes at the large scrape. It was bloody and scabbing over, but he was almost positive there were bits of grain and grit in the wound. He was proven right when she started to wet the rag with water from his glass.

He didn’t protest as she gently cleaned the wound, even when the scabs were ripped off. He hissed when she poured peroxide over it, but she made it quick. She briefly left to go get a bandage before starting on the other elbow.

“You’re a mess,” she said fondly. She patted his stomach as she stood from the bed.

His eyes were already starting to drift closed. “Th-thanks, Griffon,” he whispered, the words hard to get out.

As the door creaked closed, he heard her laugh flutter into the room. “Sleep tight, Michael.”

\---

For a long, blissful second, Michael woke up without knowing where he was.

It definitely wasn’t home.

He blinked up at the textured, cream-colored ceiling in fascination, wondering whose room he was in and why it smelled so damn good. He was warm, a rarity in itself, and laying on something soft. His stomach didn’t rumble. His back didn’t hurt.

It took him a while to recognize the emotion swirling around in his gut. Happiness. It made him grin, especially as his memory eventually floated back to him. He heaved a great sigh and rolled over, curling up in the sheets and burying his face into the thick blanket, inhaling deeply to breathe in as much of the scent as possible. It was warm and comfortable, and the feel of silky sheets against the skin of his arms and legs was something Michael had never experienced.

“Shh,” he heard a voice hiss and popped open his eyes. “You’re going to wake him up.”

There was a low chuckle. “Too late.”

Michael rolled over and sat up quickly, squinting at the two figures standing at the edge of his bed. Sleepiness blurred his already fuzzy vision, but he was able to make out that one of them was Griffon, her stance wide as she stood with her hand planted on a cocked hip. The other was a tall male about in his mid-twenties, maybe thirties, with inked-up arms and dark hair. Michael felt a tingle run down his spine as he stared at him, his brain having trouble processing the scene playing out in front of him.

“Mornin’, Michael,” Griffon said easily, not moving from where she stood. She seemed frozen.

“Uh –” Michael said, looking at the man.

“This is Geoff.”

“Geoff,” Michael echoed uncomprehendingly. The name made his tongue prickle. His eyes widened. _Geoff._

He hastily scuttled from the bed, already missing the warm and comfort once he was out from under the covers, but the name made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. As he stood next to the bed, he became aware he was also _wearing the man’s damn clothes._

Instead of acknowledging Geoff’s amused smirk, Michael glared at Griffon. “What the fuck,” he hissed, cheeks bright red. His eyes probably screamed _how could you do this to me_ because Griffon laughed and shrugged.

“What? It’s his room, technically,” she said.

“And my guest bed,” Geoff said, forcing Michael to look at him in order to not be rude. Michael may’ve had to raise himself, but he knew basic manners. It was surprisingly easy to meet Geoff’s piercing gaze, the grey orbs misty and focused on Michael.

“She – she didn’t say you would be here,” Michael stammered, gesturing helplessly at Griffon.

Geoff laughed, and it was a shockingly pleasant sound. “He sure is quick to throw you under the bus there, Griffon.”

She just shrugged good-naturedly.

“That’s not what I –”

“It’s fine, kid,” Geoff said dismissively, waving his hand in the air. “Quit looking at me like that.”

Michael looked away, instead staring at the carpet. He felt hot with shame; he’d been caught sleeping in a complete stranger’s bed. It was similar to being caught stealing something, which Michael had been many times.

This was so much worse.

Geoff murmured something in a low tone to Griffon who laughed and nodded. “Yeah,” she said in a normal volume. “Not as much when you get to know him.”

“What?” Michael blurted, curiosity overriding his nervousness.

“Are you hungry, Michael?” Griffon asked, directing the conversation away. “It’s two in the afternoon,” she said in response to his silent question.

“I’m not really hungry,” Michael said half-heartedly. With how he’d eaten before, he wasn’t sure he’d be truly hungry for another two weeks.

Griffon hummed, not looking convinced. She grabbed his hand without hesitating and dragged him out of the room, Geoff following behind and closing the door after them.

“Griffon,” Michael hissed. “I can’t believe you –”

“I told you he didn’t mind,” Griffon told him firmly.

“And I don’t,” Geoff said loudly. Michael cursed. He had excellent hearing; they were all the way across the room, whispering.

Michael’s eye twitched as Griffon sat him down in a stool and began to make him food again. He didn’t recognize it from the smell, but it made his stomach rumble. He pushed his palm against it, a little weirded out that he was eating so much. He was going to get spoiled, and then when he was out on his own again, it was going to be harder to adjust.

Geoff sat next to him, tattooed arms supporting his weight on the counter. Michael couldn’t help but stare, transfixed at the beautiful work. There were lines and curves of varying thickness, interlocking and intermingling to create a perfect spiral down his bicep and curling down his forearm. There was a large Band-Aid covering his elbow, but it didn’t hide much of the mystery.

Michael must’ve been staring more blatantly than he realized.

“You like?” Geoff asked him teasingly, and Michael had to tear his eyes away. He looked up at his face instead.

“Tattoos are cool,” Michael said awkwardly, turning to look at Griffon as she worked. He’d always admired the work done on her arms. She used to let him study them for hours, tracing some of the more intricate ones and asking about the symbolism of others.

Geoff smiled. It wasn’t quite as cocky as it had been before. Soft around the corners and made his cheeks pop.

“What the fuck is this,” Michael said blankly when Griffon placed two plates of something that looked like long strips of multicolored meat. Geoff was already digging in, grabbing the odd flaps by the handful and just shoving them into his mouth. They sounded crunchy. Michael was wary to touch them, but his stomach gurgled loudly in protest.

Geoff seemed to choke on the food and had to cough repeatedly to clear the blockage. Eyes watering, he looked down at Michael in amazement. “You’ve never had bacon?” he said incredulously.

Michael shook his head, a little annoyed at his obvious disbelief. He bit back a malicious retort. It wasn’t exactly like he’d had the chance for luxuries like fresh food.

“Eat it,” Geoff encouraged, sounding excitedly. “Let me see euphoria cross your face.”

Michael gave him a funny look but couldn’t fight the smile as he reached to grab a single flabby strip, grease making it slip a little in his grip. He brought it to his mouth and bit off a good mouthful, eyes widening as his mouth filled with saliva at the delicious flavor. Geoff laughed from beside him, Griffon joining in not long after that.

Michael’s plate was empty in seconds. Geoff even spared him a few extras from his, which Michael greedily took. There wasn’t much time for conversation and Michael found himself beginning to relax in the two’s company.

He’d had orange juice before and thanked Griffon when she placed a glass in front of him. The school he’d gone to served it in little shitty cups, full of clumpy bits that made Michael a little nauseous swallowing. This stuff was much better, smooth and tasty, leaving Michael licking his lips and looking at Griffon accusingly.

“You’re fucking spoiling me,” Michael said regretfully, placing his empty glass on the countertop. Griffon snorted.

“You’re impossible to spoil,” she told him. “You barely accept anything. It’s a miracle you’re here at all.”

Michael looked down. He wasn’t sure what he was doing here anymore, to be honest.

Geoff frowned and traded silent looks with Griffon. Michael could feel the displeasure emanating off of the man next to him. “Those clothes don’t fit very well,” Geoff said, bluntly changing the subject. “You’re probably closer to Ray or Gavin’s size.”

“Who?” Michael asked.

“Friends of mine,” Geoff explained, standing up from his chair and giving a moan of happiness. He patted his belly. “Damn, Griffon, that was good. Thank you.”

“No problem, Geoffrey,” Griffon grinned. “Next time you can do the cooking.”

Geoff laughed and nodded agreeably. Michael looked between the two. They seemed like more than friends, but for some reason the thought made Michael’s stomach twist.

Geoff glanced at him. “I don’t think I have any of their stuff here,” he said. “But I do back home.”

It was a weird offer, one that made Michael’s face contort in confusion. “Er – no thanks,” he said haltingly. “But, uh, actually Griffon – thank you, you know… for everything. But I should probably go. It’s a long way to where I think I wanna go.”

“Where do you want to go?” Geoff asked, but the way he asked it made Michael think he already knew the answer.

“Austin, Texas,” Michael answered.

“Good,” Geoff said, nodding. “Then you _can_ come with me.”

“What?” Michael said, utterly confused.

“I live in Austin, idiot.”

“What?”

“Close your mouth,” Geoff laughed, reaching forward to do it himself, placing a finger under Michael’s chin and tilting it up. His fingerprint felt burned into Michael’s skin.

“You live in Texas?” Michael demanded before looking at Griffon. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“I’d saidthat I’d been to Texas, didn’t I?” Griffon said, eyes twinkling.

“I didn’t think you meant –” Michael cut himself off, face feeling hot. “God, it’s like a fucking puzzle with you, constantly. You always do that stupid thing with wording –”

“Talking?” Griffon said, raising an eyebrow.

“Speaking in riddles,” Michael said bitingly.

Both Geoff and Griffon laughed, but Geoff quickly sobered in response to Michael’s growing agitation. “Let me help you, Michael,” Geoff said sincerely. Michael’s heart fluttered with the way Geoff said his name so fully _._ “A – a friend of Griffon’s is a friend of mine.”

Michael saw Griffon shoot a wary glance at the tattooed man. Geoff pursed his lips at own stutter but looked expectantly at Michael, the yearning look in the gray orbs making it hard for Michael to refuse. He bit his lip.

“You’ll drive me there or whatever and then what?” Michael said nervously. “Can you drop me off at a soup kitchen or something?”

Geoff did _not_ look happy with that, but he seemed to have been anticipating such a response. Cringing, he shrugged half-heartedly, nodding and saying, “I don’t know any personally, but I’m sure I could find one. Is that a yes?”

Michael glanced at Griffon, who nodded encouragingly. She looked apprehensive and Michael realized it was because she wasn’t sure if he was going to take the offer or not. It made him feel guilty.

“Wouldn’t you come with?” he asked, sounding a bit desperate. As much as he liked Geoff so far, being separated from Griffon made his palms sweat. He’d only just found her again, and she wanted him to travel across the country with a stranger?

She shook her head, looking sad. “I’m sorry, Michael, but I can’t. My job needs me up here.”

“But you were just down there, weren’t you?” Michael said hotly. His fists clenched.

“Yes,” she said calmly. “For an art trade. I can’t go now.”

Michael just looked at her pleadingly, but he already knew she wasn’t going to budge. She looked genuinely apologetic.

Geoff grumbled and Michael looked at him. His tattooed arms were crossed, lips pushed out in a cute pout. “It’s not like I’m terrible to travel with,” he said with a frown.

“I don’t even know your last name,” Michael pointed out.

Geoff grinned. “It’s Ramsey. Now c’mon, Jones, let’s go get your things packed.”

“Right now?” Michael said, alarmed.

“Flight leaves in an hour.”

Michael paled. “What, like an airplane?”

“No, like a bird,” Geoff said with a small smile. It widened when Michael glared at him with narrowed eyes.

“You’re kind of a prick,” Michael said, fighting back a grin. He liked Geoff – the older man was oddly uncomplicated to be around. He did nothing to raise Michael’s hackles as newcomers often did, if not completely putting Michael at ease. It was all too simple for Michael to relax in his presence.

Flying, however.

“I don’t want to go in an airplane,” Michael said forcefully.

“Really, now,” Geoff said. “Have you ever been in one?”

“No, that’s the reason I’m not flying. A big metal can hundreds of feet in the sky? Funny joke.”

When Geoff gave him a dubious look, Michael just shook his head. “Nevermind. Thanks for the offer, but there is absolutely no way in hell that I’m flying on an airplane.”

\---

“How’d you get him on the airplane?” Griffon asked, voice muffled with barely concealed laughter over the phone. Geoff grinned and clipped his seatbelt together, tightening it so the strap fit snugly against his stomach. Holding the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, he reached over Michael’s snoozing body and yanked on his belt, making sure it was firmly clasped together.

“Didn’t take but one sleeping pill and he was out like a light,” Geoff said casually, smiling politely at the flight attendant as she passed. She pointed to the phone against his cheek and he nodded. “Gotta go, Griffon. I’ll call you when we land in Austin.”

“Bye, Geoff; don’t introduce him to everyone at once because that’ll frighten him, he’s lactose intolerant, and don’t let Gavin bully him,” she said hastily.

“Got it, not all at once. No milk. And no dumb Brits,” Geoff said, rolling his eyes. “Bye, Griffon. Be safe.”

Her voice turned serious. “You too,” she said quietly before hanging up. Geoff gazed at his phone sadly before turning it off and pocketing it, glancing around to see the cart lady coming down the isle. He looked at Michael, studying the redhead’s face as he slept.

He was cute.

A part of him was selfishly happy to have finally retrieved Michael, but another was more domineering; it was finally explained to him, through the words of Griffon, why he had bruises sprout on his skin with no identifiable source. And then, why they were mirrored on strangers he’d met with Burnie and Griffon’s help. Michael had been the last piece – Geoff was sure of it.

He was beginning to realize that Griffon had been right from the start.

_But he’s cute,_ Geoff thought to himself, smiling. He loved freckles. They were hard to see, but Michael’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose were covered in the light brown specks, spreading down and fading off near his chin. His lips were curved and bowed – undeniably adorable.

“Can I get you a drink, sir?” the cart woman asked, shocking Geoff out of his reverie. He looked up at her. “Or your friend?”

“Jack and coke,” Geoff said, hesitating to order for Michael. “And a – uh – orange juice.”

She raised an eyebrow, but nodded and poured him the drinks, placing both of them on Geoff’s tray since Michael was asleep. She handed him an ice cold soda before wheeling the cart away.

He sighed as he poured his glass, feeling the plane begin to shift in the air. They’d taken off and Geoff hadn’t even realized, too busy with staring at Michael. He had to calm down. If he kept acting like this, Michael was going to disappear in the middle of the night, and Geoff didn’t think he’d really blame him. According to both Griffon and his own phantom bruises, Michael had known nothing but abuse and neglect all of his short life. It wouldn’t surprise Geoff in the slightest if Michael vanished under his nose without hesitating. It had to be hard to trust after a life like this.

Geoff was probably not helping by drugging him to get him on the plane, but once he got Michael to Austin, it would be infinitely easier to talk to him. He wanted to introduce Michael to his ties, the people he’d been unknowingly inflicting injuries on, and do it in the kindest way possible.

He took a long drink from his glass, feeling the whiskey in his cocktail burning as it slid down his throat. Not sure if Michael was going to properly wake up during the flight, he shook free two pills from his pocket and crushed them up into a fine powder before mixing them into the thick, pulpy liquid. He would be prepared.

It was two hours later that Michael finally stirred. A weak whimper spilled from his mouth, causing Geoff to glance sharply at him, having been staring mindlessly at the back of the seat in front of him. Michael’s eyes fluttered open and he stared hazily at his knees, chin on his chest.

“Hey,” Geoff said quickly snatching up the rather warm orange juice and holding it close to the redhead. “Michael – how do you feel?”

“Nyeugh,” Michael moaned, licking his lips. He barely seemed to have enough energy to raise his head, but managed to turn his head to stare at Geoff, blinking slowly. Geoff wondered if he recognized him.

Geoff felt guilty even as he offered the small plastic cup. “Here, buddy,” he said lamely. When Michael didn’t even move, Geoff’s hand continued forward to place the edge of the cup at Michael’s lips. He bit back a snicker when he was able to tilt the drink back and dribble it into Michael’s mouth. The redhead didn’t complain.

Geoff was wheezing with laughter when Michael rolled over and fell back into a deep sleep. Crumpling up the empty plastic, he tossed it on the tray and wiped the tear from his eye.

He was still giggling to himself as they landed, but quickly quieted when he realized he’d have to carry Michael off the plane.

\---

This time waking up in an unfamiliar place wasn’t quite so pleasant.

Michael felt a powerful shiver rip through his shoulders, waking him up instantly. He bolted upwards, hands tangled in a wooly blanket that he hadn’t seen before. Head throbbing, he gasped aloud at the pain and shoved his palms into his eyes as if that would rid him of the affliction, but it only succeeded in causing stars to burst behind his eyelids. Throat dry, he coughed roughly for a few seconds, and feeling as though his muscles had crystallized under his skin, he stumbled off the bed, heart pounding as he fearfully reached out in front of him, knocking shit off the shelves lining the wall and hearing the glass shatter on the tile flooring. He stepped on the shards and yelped in pain, the sound seeming to bounce around in his skull.

Using the wall to stabilize himself, Michael hopped on one foot to check the damage, his stomach sinking at the sight of blood. His feet were one of his most valuable asset - without them, he couldn’t go anywhere.

“Five seconds,” a low voice said from the doorway. Michael looked up to see Geoff glowering at him, walking gingerly. “Five seconds you’ve been awake and already –!”

“What the hell did you do to me?” Michael growled, edging backwards. He put his injured foot on the floor and ignored the pain.

“Calm down,” Geoff ordered smoothly, raising his hands. His face twisted into a guilty grimace.

“Where am I?” Michael demanded, voice cracking. His hands shook as he gripped the dresser, knuckles turning white. He already had a feeling where he was, and it sent his stomach spiraling in dread.

“You’re in Austin,” Geoff said soothingly. “Where you wanted to go, right?”

“Did you fucking drug me?” Michael asked, trying to snuff the fear from his voice. “You’re a psychopath! Did - did Griffon know -?”

Geoff’s expression seemed to freeze. “I didn’t _drug_ drug you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It wasn’t like chloroform or anything,” Geoff said nervously, picking at his fingernail and not meeting Michael’s venomous glare.

“Griffon said I could trust you,” Michael said hollowly. Eyes alit with fury, he pushed away from the dresser and shoved Geoff in the chest, the tattooed man bouncing off the hallway wall in shock. Storming past him, Michael limped as fast as he could, cursing his clumsiness as he went.

“Michael,” Geoff called, and Michael could hear him thudding after him at a speedy pace. “Michael, wait -”

“Where the door?” Michael snarled, whirring around. He raised his eyebrows in confusion when he saw that Geoff was limping in a similar fashion. “What’s wrong with you?”

Geoff gave him a weak glare, but Michael could tell there was no real heat in it. “Let me explain,” he panted, looking pained. “Stop - stop!” he said sharply when Michael began to back up nervously. “Michael, c’mon.”

Michael frowned at the pleading note in Geoff’s voice and hesitated. He was trembling in an odd mix of terror and rage, but something about how Geoff made him feel made the redhead want to listen.

Geoff took the opportunity. “I just helped you fly down here, is all. We couldn’t drive and I knew you were too stubborn to accept any other way.”

“Why bring me down here at all?” Michael challenged. “I - I’m only eighteen, I could’ve stayed with Griffon and be fine -”

“Roomies with a drug dealer,” Geoff deadpanned.

“It’s better than staying with my parents,” Michael snapped. Geoff’s eyes softened immensely, and oddly enough, it made Michael backtrack. “I just - I just want to start fresh.”

“Do that here!” Geoff said excitedly, displaying his palms in a wide gesture. Michael eyed him warily. “Griffon loves you, Michael, she does. But she wants you to get away from that life.”

“I want to get away from that, too,” Michael murmured, his throat beginning to tighten. “I never asked for it in the first place.”

“I know,” Geoff said gently. He reached out a hand; a peace offering. “Let me help you. I - I want to.”

“Did Griffon ask you to?” Michael asked. For some reason, the thought made his stomach clench. Maybe he was just desperate for human contact that didn’t involve a fist or stinging words, but he wanted Geoff to be friends with him. No – he wanted Geoff to _want_ to be friends. It was sad and pathetic, but Michael couldn’t force back the hope budding in his heart when Geoff shook his head, his gray eyes soft.

“She clued me in,” he said. “But I’m doing this of my own accord. I want to help you, Michael.”

Michael couldn’t help the question. “Why?”

Geoff hesitated, looking stuck between two answers.

Infuriated, Michael spat, “I want the _truth,_ don’t look at me like you’re deciding whether or not to lie.”

Geoff licked his lips. “Because I think we’re - well… Let me ask you this first.”

Michael looked at him searchingly, but the pain in his foot was beginning to distract him. He could feel blood smearing on the floor beneath his sole, and his hiss of pain was heard by Geoff, whose eyes darted downwards before flicking back to Michael’s face.

“C’mere,” Geoff gestured, waving Michael forward. “Let’s get that cleaned up. And then I want to show you something.”

Michael swallowed, but obeyed his heart’s demands. He limped forward and allowed Geoff to sling his arm over the tattooed man’s shoulder, and the two made quick work of walking to the bathroom. Michael had never seen such a clean sink. Geoff made him sit on a white porcelain toilet, propping his foot up on Geoff’s lap while the tattooed man sat on the edge of the bathtub. The younger of the two blushed furiously, finding the position strange and rather intimate.

“How do you manage to do this to yourself?” Geoff grumbled, wetting a washcloth with the tub’s faucet before carefully raising Michael’s foot. He inspected the appendage with a frown. “There’s glass in there for Christ’s sake!”

Michael half-heartedly yanked his foot back as a warning. He narrowed his eyes at Geoff. “If you aren’t going to do it, I gladly will,” he said, reminding the older that he’d protested this from the start.

Geoff withheld his comments, biting his lower lip to supposedly stop them from slipping out. “How did you meet Griffon?” he asked instead. “Did she sell you weed or something?”

“No,” Michael said firmly, frowning at the spark of offense ignited in his chest. After watching the downwards spiral his parents had been subjected to after trying their first hit of coke, Michael promised himself he’d never do that to his body or mind. It turned them into more a more vicious version of the monsters they’d already been.

“Then how did you meet her?” Geoff asked, sounding confused. After wiping the wound with a warm washcloth, he picked up the tweezers from the counter.

“My parents bought from her,” Michael said coolly, flinching when Geoff started to extract small slivers of glass.

Geoff’s expression darkened. “Oh,” was all he said about it before moving on. “You made pretty good friends with her. She talks about you a lot.”

“She hasn’t spoken _to_ me in a few months,” Michael said sourly, though the words made him smile. “We were friends.”

“You _are_ friends,” Geoff corrected. “She had to leave in a hurry. No time for a goodbye.”

“Yeah, well,” Michael whispered, voice strained. Geoff glanced at him before setting the tweezers back on the counter, their tips slightly bloody. The redhead’s foot was burning.

“Sorry,” Geoff said, looking down. “Can you hand me the antiseptic?”

Michael glanced at the array of differently colored bottles before looking at Geoff blankly. None of them looked like the one he had inside of his backpack. “Um.”

“It’s the brown bottle,” Geoff said quickly.

After handing it to him, Geoff spoke quietly as he wet a small cotton ball with the fluid. “She told me she used to tell you stories,” he prompted, looking up at Michael.

It was unreasonable, but Michael felt a pang of betrayal. Griffon sure liked to tell her friends of the private memories they shared. “Yeah,” Michael said dully, wincing as he pressed the soaked cotton up against his cut. It stung, but he wasn’t a stranger to pain.

“She used to tell me stories, too,” Geoff continued. “Stories about underwater people, volcanoes, the marked lovers, and even talking animals.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Some were more ridiculous than others.”

One in particular piqued Michael’s interest. “Marked lovers?” he questioned, looking curious.

Michael could see his mouth quirk up in a smirk, but the tattooed man didn't look up. "I like that one, too," Geoff said quietly. There was a long pause, in which tension tightened the air seemingly from nowhere. Michael shifted in discomfort. "I have these friends," Geoff said suddenly.

"Good for you?" Michael said awkwardly.

"I went to high school with two of them," he continued, ignoring Michael's sarcastic quip. "Jack and Ryan. I took a hard tackle while playing backyard football one day in sophomore year. Ended up with a broken arm. So did Jack and Ryan."

“Um-”

"And senior year," Geoff said, steamrolling over Michael. "Jack drove into a pole outside of a local 7-11. He ended up with a broken nose. So did me and Ryan."

"Okay, but-"

"And three years ago," Geoff continued thoughtfully. "I woke up with a blackened left eye - but hey, I tended to get a lot of injuries without remembering them anyway. I wasn’t talking much to Ryan or Jack at that point in my life - was a little weirded out by them, honestly - but I'm a curious motherfucker. Went to see 'em, and sure enough, they had one, too."

There was a long pause, but Michael didn’t attempt to get in a word this time. The words were frozen somewhere in his throat, the gears in his mind clicking and working together as he tried to understand Geoff's underlying hint. Geoff, for his part, didn’t seem to be waiting for a response from the redhead, simply absorbed in his story. His hands worked methodically to wrap Michael' foot.

"I didn’t say anything to either of them," Geoff said, sounding sad. "But as I was driving back from the bar Jack was drinking at... I saw a skinny, kinda weird-looking dude with a giant nose and poofy hair. He was walking down the street and had a huge, nasty black left eye.”

“Oh,” Michael said weakly. It was all he could manage.

Geoff nodded as if in agreement. “I stopped and pulled over immediately. Slowly got out of the car and ran after him on the street.

“He didn’t believe me at first. I wouldn’t have either, but earlier that weak, I’d gotten a paper cut on my index finger. This time I actually remembered getting it. Gavin… Gavin didn’t remember getting his.”

Geoff looked up, gray eyes bluntly meeting brown ones without flinching. Michael’s breathing seemed to stop.

“You broke your arm sometime when you were younger,” Geoff said, and the blanks began to fill. “Your nose was broken a few years after that. But… _you_ got the black eye. You remember that one… don’t you.”

_What?_

His mouthed moved on autopilot. “You’re making this up.”

Wordlessly, Geoff shook his head and held up his elbow for Michael to see. He peeled the Band-Aid off to reveal a large scrape. It was obviously cleaned and already cared for, but it looked familiar. Still utterly silent, Geoff waved a hand to indicate for Michael to stretch out his arm. Hesitantly obeying, he yelped when Geoff yanked off the small strip of gauze Griffon had fastened there.

At this point, Michael was unsurprised.

“They’re the same,” Geoff said softly, the look in his eyes reminding Michael of the one in Griffon’s when she’d murmur her stories to him.

Michael shook his head, mouth hanging open. “No, no, no,” he said, laughing nervously and tugging his arm gently out of the tattooed man’s grip. “I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to accomplish here, but – but it’s not working. Are you done? With that?” Michael said quickly, gesturing to his foot even as he pulled it away.

“Michael –”

Standing up suddenly, Michael gave a sharp bark of laughter, shaking his head in a manic motion. “I think I’ll be going to that soup kitchen now,” he said firmly, nodding to himself and biting his lip. “Sorry – and thank you for, uh… getting me here, I guess. Not really, because you, like, drugged me against my will, but you paid for my plane ticket, so…”

Geoff frowned but allowed Michael to leave the bathroom in a flurry of panic, the redhead’s voice wobbling slightly. Hesitating outside of the restroom door, Michael grudgingly allowed Geoff to lead him back to the bedroom. His backpack was sitting in the corner and Michael sighed in relief, snatching it up and clutching it to his chest.

There was still a heavy grimace on Geoff’s face as Michael walked by him. “Door?” the redhead suggested carefully.

“What?”

“The exit,” Michael clarified.

Geoff narrowed his eyes at him in thought, seeming to mull over the idea of Michael leaving. Michael swallowed thickly. Fear crept into his voice as he said, “I want to leave.”

“Yeah, I know,” Geoff muttered. He finally shifted from his statue-like pose, brushing by the redhead as if angry. Michael knew he was just bitter and followed him, hoping that the tattooed man wasn’t going to force him to stay.

“Sorry,” Michael said awkwardly.

“I just wish you were different,” Geoff said, disappointment blatant in his tone. Michael’s gut seemed to shrivel up at the words, his heart stuttering when pain ripped through his chest. Eyes widening, he opened his mouth to spit scathing words at the older man, to defend himself, to explain why he was like this, to say _something,_ but the words vanished into mist on his tongue, the taste left sour and tasting faintly of ice.

His feet carried him on automatically. The house was at least four times larger than Michael’s home, with well furnished hallways and a pleasant lack of mold. It smelled like Geoff with a few other distinct scents mixed in and suddenly Michael was wishing he was staying. Stuffing down the confusing thoughts, Michael blinked when he realized he was standing in the doorway. It was daylight outside, an unfamiliar heat washing over his back when Geoff opened the door.

He was going to let him leave.

Why did Michael feel disappointed?

“Are you sure you want to leave?” Geoff asked, pursing his lips.

He hesitated, glancing one more time at the house behind him. It had a warm feel to it, something Michael had never been exposed to at his house in Jersey. A coil of dread was forming in his stomach, tightening with every passing moment Geoff waited for an answer.

“Why did you tell me all of that?” Michael demanded abruptly, glaring up at Geoff, who looked surprised. “To scare me? Guilt me? Into what – staying? What do you want from me? Labor or something –?”

“Geez,” Geoff muttered, placing a hand firmly on the top of Michael’s head and effectively cutting off the redhead’s building rant. “Calm down. You sure know how to get yourself riled up.”

“Shut up,” Michael snapped, ducking out from Geoff’s hand.

“I told you that because it’s the truth,” Geoff said. “I – can’t you _feel_ it? I can’t be the only one who feels it.”

Michael didn’t say anything.

“No one wants to bring it up,” Geoff muttered, and Michael suddenly got the feeling that this thing Geoff was trying to wrestle was a lot bigger than just him. Squinting his eyes at something to his right, Geoff spoke out of the side of his mouth. “No one knows what is it, except for you and me; we’re the only ones who Griffon told that ‘story’ to. She’s really into that sorta stuff, the soulmate crap and all. I’ve known her for a while and she’s always been so eager to find her own. She went to New York to find him or her. Came back with… different news, instead.”

Geoff sighed, closing his eyes. “She calls it linked, instead of what it is. Me, you… the others… we’re all _linked._ ”

“Soulmates,” Michael whispered numbly.

“Soulmates,” Geoff echoed.

“I woke up with a broken nose in elementary school,” Michael said, and his eyes stung. “I didn’t know how I got it or where the blood came from.”

Geoff was quiet, allowing Michael to slowly open his mind up to the idea.

“I think it was preschool or something… I don’t know how it happened, but I was… fighting with my dad and my arm broke. Nothing happened to it – he didn’t touch it. I didn’t hit it on anything. And it didn’t feel like I _broke_ it, really, it just hurt – a different kind of pain. It was weird.”

Michael squeezed his eyes shut, voice trembling. “And three years ago, I got hit in the eye with a bottle so hard that it _bled._ It was my fault, but it stayed there for fucking _weeks._ ”

Geoff was still, completely frozen as he listened. Michael wanted to scream, to punch, to push the man in front of him for connecting some of the dots for him but creating even more for Michael alone to figure out. To have the puzzle filled in with nonsensical meaning was infuriating. This shit wasn’t _real._

“This can’t be real,” Michael said, thoughts spilling from his mouth in a weak dribble. His tone was desperate – begging. “Geoff. This isn’t _real._ ”

“There’ve been studies on it,” Geoff said, but he sounded just as lost. “It’s not as out-there as you think, but it’s still pretty unbelievable.”

“But what you’re saying is that all these _other_ people, too,” Michael said in a hush, as if those _other people_ might overhear. “What were their names? Jack, Ryan, and Gavin?”

“And Ray,” Geoff added. He winced when Michael send him a withering glare.

“Who are they?” Michael demanded. “How am I supposed to be… _linked_ with five other guys? Ugh my mom was right – I’m a faggot -”

Geoff frowned and sharply said, “We don’t talk like that here.” His tone left no room for argument, so Michael quickly moved on.

“Sorry,” he said hastily. “But five other guys? I don’t even know _you_ for Christ’s sake.”

“You do know me though,” Geoff said gently. “You’re already talking to me like we’ve known each other for years. Can’t you notice?”

“I talk to everyone like this,” Michael brushed off.

“Alright, well _I’m_ talking to you like I’ve known you for years,” Geoff said, frustrated. “Don’t sit there in denial and tell me you don’t feel anything towards me.”

Michael licked his lips. “Well,” he said awkwardly. “I mean, you’re attractive and all - but I’m not in love with you or anything.”

“I don’t expect you to be,” Geoff said, shaking his head. He looked contemplative for a short moment before grinning and effectively breaking the tense atmosphere with, “Not yet, anyway.”

The line was so cheesy that Michael had to smile. Playfully smacking Geoff on the arm, he laughed. “I don’t know,” he said, smiling. “You’re kind of a prick.”

“So are you,” Geoff said affectionately. Michael’s heart sped up at the words and his smile widened.

“Did you expect anything different?” he said weakly. “Anyone who drives into a pole in front of a gas station has _gotta_ be an asshole. There’s a trend here.”

Grinning, Geoff reached forward to ruffle Michael’s hair in a lighthearted display of reprisal. “Damn,” he sighed. “Now we gotta deal with another accent around the house. Gavin’s gonna love that.”

Michael flushed. “Gavin. When am I going to meet him? Or them?”

Geoff’s face brightened. “Does that mean you’re staying?” he asked.

Michael sighed, glancing over his shoulder. It was a lovely day out, albeit a little hot. The grass was duller than it had been in Jersey, but was plentiful regardless as it covered the front lawn. He’d never been inside of a house that belonged to such a good neighborhood, where all the doors were closed and the cars in the driveways weren’t broken down or belonging to drug dealers.

“Yeah,” Michael hummed. “I’m staying.”

\---

Geoff was nervous.

Geoff was _very_ nervous.

Michael’s wide brown eyes were trained on Gavin like the Brit might attack him, hands clenched at his sides as if in preparation for a punch to be thrown. His jaw was visibly clenched, grinding sound beginning to set Geoff on edge. While it felt like a lifetime, Geoff had only known this man, this _kid,_ for less than a day. He knew that he’d been abused growing up by the awful sacks of ever-loving shit that should have been his parents, but he wasn’t sure how the redhead was going to react to Gavin’s rather intrusive inspection. He certainly didn’t look thrilled.

Gavin, however, resembled an eager dog as he excitedly checked Michael out, hazel eyes lit with an insatiable curiosity with questions of _Geoff, how did you find him_ and _he’s short, like Ray, that’s so top!_ He was unstoppable in his investigation, and though Geoff knew it was purely filled with good-intentions, Michael seemed to be expecting something like rejection. Geoff bit his tongue, knowing that for Michael to be completely soothed, he’d have to hear it straight from Gavin’s own mouth.

Michael almost lost it when Gavin reached towards his face. He flinched, shrinking back slightly when the Brit’s long fingers brushed his cheek. Gavin paled and immediately realized his mistake, jerking backwards as if Michael might snap at him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Gavin said quickly, cheeks pinking with embarrassment. He glanced and Geoff, but the tattooed man simply looked pointedly at Michael. _Apologize to_ him, _dumbass._

“Sorry, Michael,” Gavin offered, smiling sheepishly. Michael blinked owlishly at him, his own face blushing red.

Goddamn.

“It’s like watching a soap opera,” Geoff announced, shaking his head.

Michael ignored him in favor of leaning towards Gavin, craning his neck to look into the Brit’s big eyes. “Gavin.” He stated.

Gavin’s eyebrows rose at the plain statement. “Yes.”

Geoff and Gavin held their breath as Michael stared at the latter, brow furrowing in thought as his chocolate eyes traced complicated paths around Gavin’s face, clearly inspecting the older man. The Brit was quickly shrinking under the redhead’s heavy scrutinization and Geoff could almost laugh at the confused look in Gavin’s eyes.

Michael suddenly smirked.

“You do have a big nose.”

Geoff burst into laughter, the sounds of Gavin’s sputtering interspersed with Michael’s giggling. After catching his breath, Geoff grinned when Gavin looked at him accusingly.

“You have _one_ thing to say about me and it’s my nose,” Gavin said, shaking his head with a frown. “Typical. I hate you.”

“I said more,” Geoff said defensively, unable to keep the smile off of his face as he glanced at Michael.

“He _does_ have poofy hair,” Michael allowed, appraising Gavin thoughtfully with a finger on his chin.

Gavin grumbled sour words under his breath as he pushed down on his hair, the spikes unrelenting. Geoff rolled his eyes, knowing that Gavin styled it that way on purpose - though Gavin probably hadn’t suspected he’d be meeting the last of his links today.

“So you…” Gavin said, clearly struggling to form his thoughts in a non-offensive way. “So you get hurt a lot.”

Michael’s eyes darkened and Geoff could see when he visibly withdrew from the conversation. The link between them was an odd one, but Geoff could feel the abrupt coolness that began to emanate from the redhead.

“Yeah,” Michael said shortly. He fiddled with the hem of his oversized shirt.

Gavin waited patiently for an explanation, frowning when he realized one wasn’t coming. He then bluntly asked, “What’s that about?”

Michael looked up, seeming surprised that Gavin was so forward, but not unpleasantly so. Eyebrows raised, he said, “I lived in a bad neighborhood.”

Gavin glanced at Geoff as if needing confirmation, but the older man just looked back at him. Gavin needed to figure out how to act around Michael on his own; Geoff couldn’t help him or else it would strain the relationship that the tattooed man was desperately hoping would grow.

Gavin didn’t realize that they were soulmates _,_ instead being under the impression that they were linked. They more or less meant the same thing, and Geoff was fairly sure that Gavin felt something more than friendship towards all four of them. He was hoping today it would turn into all _five_ of them. Theoretically, he shouldn’t have to push for anything, as they all had the potential for love. That was what soulmates meant, Griffon had said.

Their souls already loved each other.

Honestly, Geoff thought that half of it was bullshit, but as of right now, he was desperately hoping that was the case.

Glancing anxiously at his watch, Geoff’s stomach dropped when he realized that he wasn’t going to be able to keep one of Griffon’s promises. Gavin had been down at GameStop all morning, giving Geoff enough time to explain to Michael that no one else knew they were soulmates but they had a feeling about it. Michael had seemed understandably nervous but agreed to not mention being anything more than friends, as the subject was still a touchy one. The redhead’s timing couldn’t have been worse; his arrival was smack in the middle of a crucial point in their relationship.

But now it was approaching late afternoon and the rest of the guys would be coming home in only a few minutes. None of them had any idea that Michael was here. It made Geoff’s gut twist in knots to think that Michael was going to have to meet his three other soulmates all at once. Meeting Gavin had already been tense enough.

“You’re cute,” Gavin suddenly said, causing both Michael and Geoff to look sharply at him. The Brit seemed confused at his own words, but surprisingly unembarrassed. “You’re bloody adorable, actually.”

Michael flushed red, causing his many freckles to stand out. “Shut up,” he mumbled.

“Can I touch your hair?” Gavin asked excitedly.

“Gavin,” Geoff said sharply, but Michael interrupted him.

“Uh, sure.”

Geoff watched in shock as the Brit unhesitatingly reached forward to card tan fingers through the mess of Michael’s many curls, the red strands bouncing slightly with the gentle contact. Gavin grinned and tugged softly at one, laughing when it immediately sprung back to its original spot on Michael’s forehead. Michael, for his part, looked nervous under the sudden attention of this new and frankly overwhelming stranger, but he accepted Gavin’s metaphorical offer of friendship with a faint smile.

"Very cute," Gavin grinned, carefully withdrawing. Michael glared at him suspiciously, reaching up to press his hair flat in a fashion similar to Gavin's nervous tick. "You sorta need a haircut," Gavin said truthfully and Geoff nodded in agreement.

Michael rolled his eyes. "Great. I'm living with two more Griffons."

Geoff definitely noticed Michael's slip of the tongue, but he didn’t say anything and instead smiled encouragingly. Gavin, however –

“You’re living with us?” he asked excitedly.

“Uh –” Michael faltered, glancing at Geoff as if _he’d_ been the one to suggest it.

“Calm down, Gav,” Geoff said quickly. “He hasn’t even been here twenty-four hours yet, not to mention he needs to meet everyone else. Who knows – he may end up hating us.” At Gavin’s squawk, he grinned. “And when I say ‘us’ I mean you, obviously.”

Michael laughed, shrugging as if it was a possibility, but Geoff could already tell the two were making fast friends.

“Can I show him my room?” Gavin asked, smiling largely.

“My god, you’ve reverted to a five year old,” Geoff said, but he couldn’t deny the blossom of happiness in his chest. It wasn’t as if he’d been expecting Gavin to be rude or unwelcoming, but he _had_ sprung this on the lad. Gavin seemed surprisingly thrilled regardless and Michael apparently didn’t mind the Brit’s grabby hands that gripped him by the upper arm.

Seeing that Gavin was still waiting for a response, Geoff rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, go ahead.” He’d get a chance to talk to Jack, Ryan, and Ray alone this way, anyway.

“C’mon,” Gavin said enthusiastically, snatching up Michael’s wrist to physically lead the redhead down the hall and to the left. The Brit’s voice echoed back, making Geoff smirk. “You’ll probably not like my room much. Maybe Ray’s… Do you like video games?”

_That went surprisingly well,_ Geoff said, sighing with relief as the two vanished into the corridor. He’d made a decision, however, and now he had a larger, much more stressful item on his plate.

It was time Gavin, Jack, Ryan, and Ray know that they were not just ‘linked’, but soulmates.

Michael was the last of the links, meaning that there was no point in hiding it anymore. There hadn’t been much of a point in the beginning, but Geoff had never found it necessary until now. With Michael aware that a more intimate bond was hatched between the six, Geoff was running out of time to tell them before they figured it out for themselves. No doubt Griffon would let something slide or Burnie would take it upon himself to tell Gavin, and then Geoff stood the chance of landing himself on the wrong side of the boys’ judgment. He didn’t want to be seen as the guy that knew the entire time but didn’t say anything, and even more than that, he _definitely_ didn’t want to be seen as the guy that didn’t want them like _that._

He had to constantly wonder if they loved him as much as he loved them. He’d known Ryan and Jack for years now, and neither had given much of an indication that they felt romantic feelings for him, but that wasn’t going to dissuade Geoff. He was going to tell them, and soon.

Maybe today. 

Geoff barely had time to speedily clean up the living room before he heard the front door creak open. He tossed down the pillow he’d been fluffing, running to the main room and just got there in time to greet the cloudy faces of Jack and Ryan, Ray following not far behind. All were limping as Gavin had been when he’d gotten home and all were carrying bags from the local HEB.

“Hi, Geoff,” Ryan waved, handing the tattooed man one of the many grocery bags lining his arms. “Was it you – or?”

“Wasn’t me,” Geoff assured, and Ryan got his answer.

“Glad to see you’re back,” Jack said, smiling. “How was Jersey? Griffon good?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Geoff nodded, taking some of the load off of Jack’s arms as well. He held out a hand for some of Ray’s also, but the younger grinned and cheekily shook his head, not allowing Geoff to take any. “Griffon’s good… everyone’s foot okay?”

Ryan grimaced as he placed his groceries on the counter. “Yeah, we were just in the car, thank god. Cleared up pretty quick, too.” He sighed and shook his head, beginning to unpack. “This has to stop, Geoff.”

“Heh,” Geoff said slowly. “Well… it might have.”

Ryan looked at him, alarmed. “What?”

“That sounds vaguely threatening, Geoff,” Ray told him.

“No, no… I have good news,” Geoff said, unable to smother his giddy smile.

Everyone seemed to freeze.

“Please say what I think you’re going to,” Ray whispered.

“He was in Jersey?” Ryan guessed, and when Geoff just gave an airy laugh, the blonde gave a stunned chuckle, shaking his head with wide eyes. “No way. Who would’ve guessed?”

“How –” Jack started before seeming to lose his breath. He continued with a look of awe glimmering in his eyes. “Where is he? Is he okay? How old is he?”

“Shh,” Geoff laughed as Jack’s voice began rising from emotion. He yelped when Ray abruptly leapt at him, stringy arms wrapping around his waist as he yelled in excitement. “Ouch, Ray – he’s okay, his name is Michael. Griffon was totally fucking playing with me; she’s known him for years.”

“And she didn’t say anything when she was here?” Jack said, looking faintly upset.

“Said she wasn’t positive,” Geoff explained. “You have to admit it was a far reach. Burnie is a magic-maker. That guy’s gut feeling will be the death of him one day.”

“Michael,” Ray said slowly, leaning back and tasting the name on his tongue.

“How old is he?” Ryan asked curiously, repeating one of Jack’s earlier questions.

“Eighteen,” Geoff answered, making a shushing motion with his hands. They were all talking in loud, excitable voices and Geoff wanted more time to explain before he introduced Michael to them.

Ray stared at his hands. “He’s _here_?” the Puerto Rican demanded. “Where?”

Ryan and Ray both started to take off through the kitchen door, but Geoff quickly reeled them back in with a sharp cry of, “Wait! There’s something you should definitely know.”

At once, they stopped at the door, looking at Geoff to show that they were paying attention, though Geoff could tell they were also listening for sounds of someone else in the house. Ryan was frowning, however, and Geoff had the feeling that the blonde had already jumped ahead a few steps.

Knowing he would be asked eventually, Geoff tiredly lied, “There’s still no sign why we’re all linked. _But…_ I can promise you that he’s the last.”

Ray looked ready to question him, but Jack quickly cut in with, “So he’s the one…?”

Geoff nodded sadly. “Yeah,” he murmured, paling at the sound of footsteps approaching rapidly from down the hall. “Griffon said – Griffon said it was his parents but don’t say anyth –”

“Geoff!” Gavin yelled, throwing the door open with a flurry and a bang. “Michael ate my hair gel –”

He fell silent, staring in surprise at the curious faces of Ryan and Ray, who were right next to the door.

Michael had no such warning before he barreled past the Brit, clearly ready to explain Gavin’s rather odd accusation. He froze halfway through the kitchen, faltering at the sight of three strangers staring at him with stunned expressions.

“Michael,” Geoff said slowly, smiling comfortable at the redhead, who was beginning to resemble a deer in the headlights. Walking over to Jack, he placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and said, “This is Jack.”

Michael swallowed audibly and nodded. “Broke-nose-on-pole guy,” he said.

Jack shot Geoff a flare before smiling warmly at the redhead. “Nice to meet you, Michael,” he said kindly, smartly making no move to shake hands. Sometimes Geoff _really_ loved Jack and his reliability.

“And this is Ryan and Ray,” Geoff said, darting across the room to appropriately point to each. They took the clue from Jack and settled for nodding politely and smiling. Gavin was bouncing nervously on his shoes as he watched.

Michael looked at Ryan with a cautious expression. Ryan frowned at him. “What?”

“Gavin said you’re the creepy one?”

Gavin was suddenly very interested in the tile flooring when Ryan’s glare was sent his direction.

“You don’t look creepy,” Michael said quickly.

“Thanks,” Ryan said sarcastically, giving the redhead a charismatic grin. Geoff rolled his eyes; Ryan was annoyingly good at laying the charm on thick and when the blonde went as far as to wink, the redhead’s cheeks were extremely flushed, though his expression didn’t change.

“Oh god, okay,” Geoff sighed, running a hair through his hair. “Everyone, this is Michael. He came back with me yesterday and, uh, he’ll be staying here for however long he’d like.”

Michael side-eyed him. “Thanks for putting me on the spot, Geoff.”

Geoff shrugged, grinning easily.

Making a face, Michael said, “Do you have any clean water?”

The others looked confused at the question, the inquiry seemingly unnecessary, but Geoff didn’t miss a beat. “Yep,” he said, walking over to the sink and turning on the tap. He waited a few seconds for it to get cold and grabbed a glass out of a cabinet and filled it, handing it to Michael not soon after. “If you want ice, it’s in the freezer.”

“Ice,” Michael muttered but said no more, taking a big swallow and smacking his lips. His eyes were wide as he finished it off in one sitting. “This came from the tap?” he asked skeptically, as if he hadn’t just seen Geoff pour it in front of him.

Gavin made a disgusted noise. “Yes, it did, and it is bloody _terrible._ Austin tap water tastes like it’s been recycled through a donkey’s body a few times.”

“Are you kidding? It tastes delicious,” Michael said earnestly, glancing at Geoff for an okay before he poured another glass.

“Seriously? Not you, too,” Gavin groaned. “No one agrees with me on this!”

“My old tap water used to come out as brown,” Michael told him, finishing off his glass with a satisfied sigh. “This is fantastic.”

His comment made everyone feel slightly uncomfortable, but Gavin was unperturbed. He waved a careless hand in the air, frowning. “No,” he said firmly. An idea apparently sprang to mind, because his eyes glittered not a millisecond later. “Have you tried Dr. Pepper?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “I didn’t live under a rock, idiot. Yes, and Dr. Pepper is fucking delicious.”

Gavin grinned and nodded in agreement, clearly happy to have something to agree about.

“What was that that you yelled when you came in here?” Ray finally asked curiously.

“What was what?” Gavin asked, confused, but Michael flushed with understanding.

“Okay,” Michael said with an odd sense of finality. He placed his glass on the counter. “Let me explain –”

“Oh!” Gavin exploded. “He ate _-_ bloody _ate_ my hair gel!”

Ryan’s face twisted in an obvious expression of contempt. “Gross, that stuff smells like ass. Why?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Michael said hotly.

“He thought it was food – or something?” Gavin said, looking questioningly at Michael.

“It – I thought it was something else,” Michael said awkwardly, biting his lip. “It smelled good! He offered me something sweet, like, seconds before that so I thought it was food, too.”

“That’s disgusting,” Geoff said.

“It tasted disgusting,” Michael replied.

Geoff laughed, looking slyly at the rest of the boys to invite them into the conversation. They looked surprisingly nervous, clearly unsure how to approach the stranger that they were linked with on a very intimate level. Knowing that skipping around the subject would only cause more problems in the end, Geoff cleared his throat and quickly made a decision. “We could have an early dinner?”

“That sounds good,” Jack immediately said, relieved.

“I already started making something,” Geoff said. “Put some shit into a boil, hopefully it won’t be half bad. Let’s relax in the living room and talk a bit,” _and hopefully clear the air, here and now._

Michael looked apprehensive as Geoff gently guided him from the room with a hand on the small of the younger’s back. The rest followed at their own pace, giving Geoff the opportunity to lean down and whisper in Michael’s ear, “Just go with me on this?”

Michael nodded and snatched the seat on the reclining chair, one of the two one-seaters in the room. He pulled his socked feet up, hugging his knees and watching as everyone slowly filed in, sitting down and looking faintly anxious.

As he took the other reclining chair, Geoff began to doubt his earlier choice of telling the others why Michael had seemed so accident-prone. It was obvious that they now didn’t know how to act.

“Okay,” Geoff said, looking at his boys and smiling. “We look like a group of oddballs,” he joked.

There were a few chuckles, but no one said anything.

Geoff grumbled under his breath before forcing a cheerier smile onto his face. “So… most of you have never met Griffon, except for you, Michael,” he started, swallowing. This was becoming a more nerve-wracking task than he thought it would be. “And all of you know Burnie… except for you, Michael.”

“Who’s Burnie?” Michael asked.

“A very old friend,” Geoff said, and he planned to leave it at that. Gavin had a word to put in, however.

“Real prick,” he said, smirking. “Kind of fat, too.”

Geoff rolled his eyes but shrugged. “Anyway… so they - Griffon and Burnie - were the ones to tell me about the linked thing. Griffon was pretty deep into the underground a few years ago and heard some weird rumors being passed around. She met Burnie, who was also in the business, and the two started a small organization together after realizing that this linked thing wasn’t just a rumor.”

“Well, how did they do that?” Ray asked.

“I’m not sure,” Geoff admitted. “Ask Burnie or Griffon the next time they come over. They never mentioned the details. In fact, they lied to me when they first told _me._ I think it was because they themselves weren’t that sure but I didn’t end up getting the truth until a few years later, after I got to know you two,” Geoff said, pointing to Jack and Ryan.

Ryan frowned. “After?”

Geoff bit his lip. “Yeah… and since then the pieces have been falling into place.”

“What pieces?” Gavin asked, eyes narrowed.

“What does linked mean to you?” Geoff said, avoiding Gavin’s pointed question.

Ryan looked annoyed. “Well,” he said slowly. “In the way that we’ve used it so far, it means our bodies have a sort of… psychic link. Whatever physically happens to one person, happens to all five - er, six of us, usually on a lesser scale.”

“Right,” Geoff said, nodding. “That’s all correct.”

“Geoff, why are you bringing this up?” Gavin questioned.

“Because,” Geoff said, hesitating and glancing at Michael, who’d turned pale. _Don’t chicken out, you piece of shit, just say it._ “Because Michael doesn’t know any of this?” _Dammit._

He could feel Michael’s stare piercing the side of his head.

“So then why are we here?” Jack said.

“Because I want you here,” Geoff answered sharply.

“But we know all of this,” Ray pointed out gently.

“This is a big deal, guys!” Geoff exploded. Everyone jumped. “This is the last time we’ll have to have this discussion,” _unless I blow it,_ Geoff mentally added, “and I think it would be good to just sit down and talk about it. We literally can physically harm each other by just hurting _ourselves._ We need to talk about safety and stuff -”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem now, right?” Michael said desperately. Geoff felt a twinge of guilt and everyone else in the room simultaneously flinched.

“No, no,” Geoff said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. Day to day life can cause stupid shit. Hangnails alone are a bitch. I just want to make sure we’re all safe.”

“Okay,” Michael said uneasily, settling back into the cushions.

“We also don’t know what it entails,” Ray pointed out. “Death, for instance.”

“It’s a delayed effect,” Geoff said, shrugging. “Sometimes. It’s unreliable, is what I’m saying. If one of our hearts were to stop… I’m not sure what would happen. Neither Burnie nor Griffon know either, and there’s no concrete evidence one way or another. It’s happened before but it doesn’t happen to everyone. Griffon thinks it depends on how much they’re attached to each other. Their hearts literally give out or something. Point is, I would like to keep us all alive and _not_ injured if possible.”

Michael seemed unable to keep from asking, “What about scars?”

“Again, sometimes it happens and sometimes it doesn’t. Our bodies aren’t mirror images of each other, obviously,” Geoff answered, glad that he could at least put that worry to rest. He imagined that Michael was hosting a fair amount of scars. “More often than not it’s just little annoying bruises.”

Michael looked unhappy but fell quiet regardless. He stared down at his hands in thought and didn’t look up, even as Geoff spoke to him.

“We all live here, Michael,” Geoff said softly, diving in. “We share rent and food. Basically, we’re just glorified roommates.” Geoff’s eye twitched at the words, but he said them in an attempt to comfort the redhead. He didn’t want the redhead to think it was all or nothing. They could be friends, if nothing else.

“Roommates,” Michael said slowly, testing out the word.

“Sometimes we do gay shit, too,” Ray said, snickering.

“Roommates who do gay shit together,” Gavin summarized with a grin.

Michael’s face went red and he glanced at Geoff.

“Got a problem with gay shit?” Ryan asked, misreading the look on the redhead’s face.

“Of course not,” Michael said gruffly, dropping his legs to brush the soles of his feet on the floor. “I’m – well… you know… Guys are – guys are nice to look at, too.”

The guys burst into laughter at the awkward, fumbled confession and damn – Geoff was glad he wasn’t going to have to help another idiot through a sexual identity crisis. To his surprise, Michael joined in on the laughter, cheeks a faint pink as he giggled nervously.

“We didn’t actually think you had a problem with that,” Ray said after a moment. “Just want to make sure you aren’t a homophobic asshole.”

“Oh, well,” Michael said, shrugging. “I’m definitely not.”

“Good,” Ryan said, smiling. “Because not to weird you out or anything, but some of us are gay.”

Michael looked embarrassed by Ryan’s openness, his brown eyes darting around the room in a weak attempt to avoid the blonde’s gaze. Geoff chuckled but sympathized with the younger – a ‘bad neighborhood’ probably wasn’t the most accepting of the gay culture.

“Er – okay,” Michael said lamely. There was an undeniable curiosity in his eyes as he very quickly glanced at each man in the room, and if Geoff had to guess, he was trying to figure out which one of them was gay.

“I like everything,” Gavin said bracingly, grinning. “Anything that’s hot.”

Geoff rolled his eyes, making a face of disgust. “He will bang anything that moves,” Geoff said, despite knowing full well that Gavin was still a virgin.

Gavin sent him a dirty look. “No, I wouldn’t!” he cried, looking pleadingly at Michael. “No, I wouldn’t,” he repeated in a firmer tone.

“Okay,” Michael said, clearly unsure of what to say to the Brit.

“Yeah, he only does gay shit with me,” Ray said, sniggering as he leaned into Gavin’s personal space, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and squeezing. He pressed his cheek against the Brit’s and stuck out his tongue, nearly skimming the skin of Gavin’s chin.

Geoff distantly wondered how they hadn’t progressed to any actual gay shit yet.

As it was, Michael looked uncomfortable with the display, but he seemed confused more than anything else. Turning to face Geoff, he said, “I thought you said no one knew it was a romantic thing?”

_Oh, fuck._

“What?” Ray said, his tone dropping into more serious tones as he unraveled from an equally sobered Gavin. The temperature of Geoff’s skin feeling like it’d suddenly fell at least ten degrees, he swallowed heavily, starkly aware that all eyes in the room had landed on him.

“What’s a romantic thing?” Ryan asked, sitting up. Jack followed the movement, both of the men’s brows furrowing.

“Um –”

“Oops,” Michael said in a small voice. He seemed to cave in on himself by slouching his shoulders and sinking into the recliner, mouth twisted into a guilty grimace. “Geoff, I didn’t…”

“ _What’s_ a romantic thing?” Gavin pushed, frowning.

Geoff took a few deep, calming breaths. He could practically feel his blood pressure rising with each passing second. “Burnie and Griffon didn’t tell me,” he said, licking his lips. “And it was impossible to bring it up after you all moved in.”

“What did you not bring up?” Ryan demanded.

“Do you know why we’re linked?” Gavin said, and fuck – he sounded angry.

“Not exactly,” Geoff said. “I mean – it’s technically random, still?”

“What?” Gavin said, shaking his head in a clear gesture of, _I don’t understand!_

“It’s not exactly rare to have multiple people to be linked to,” Geoff said slowly, trying to word it correctly. Everyone was staring at him with varying degrees of anger and he was beginning to realize that maybe they’d suspected he wasn’t being completely truthful with him. “But, uh, I guess it’s pretty rare to have them all find each other so easily… we got insanely lucky. It was a one in a million chance that Griffon found you, Michael.”

“We know all of this already, Geoff,” Ray reminded him.

“Yeah, I know,” Geoff said. “I’m stalling.” He took a deep breath. “So far in all the cases Griffon has found… being linked means more than just sharing skin. It means that we’re soulmates.”

_Like a Band-Aid._

It was only Geoff and Michael that didn’t look like their brain had just collapsed, though both were equally breathless as they waited for the inevitable explosive reactions, the explicatives shouted, the anger to burst.

“Oh,” Gavin said, leaning back into the couch. Ray followed him with a matching blown-away expression. They just blinked, stunned into silence.

“You mean like… the romantic kind?” Jack said slowly and his expression was extremely hard for Geoff to read. His brow had unfurrowed and while he looked faintly surprised, like the others he seemed oddly amazed.

“That’s what Griffon said,” Geoff said awkwardly, fiddling with a loose piece of sting coming off of the seam of the chair. _Definitely not the reaction I expected –_

“But,” Ryan said, looking supremely confused. “But you said that it isn’t rare to have multiple links? ‘Soulmates’ are typically pairs –”

“Polyamorous relationships aren’t exactly common,” Geoff said, looking at his hands. “People… close themselves off after finding ‘ _the one’_ and if they were to run into one of their other soulmates, they wouldn’t even consider it. Even if they feel something for that person.”

“Feel something?” Gavin asked, picking up on the emphasis Geoff had placed on the two words.

“I see attractive people every day,” Geoff said, shrugging. His heart was quick to climb into his throat as he scraped up the courage to say the next words.

“I don’t feel the same towards them as I do towards all of you.”

He kept his gaze aimed down, unwilling to forgive himself if he glanced up and saw that his friends, the fucking only people on the planet that he felt a connection with, were gazing at him with something like pity. Despite all of his earlier suspicions, he couldn’t help but feel unsure of them now, insecurity riding in on a wave of doubt and washing over him until he began to drown.

He’d been so sure. Ray’s granite eyes would soften into melted chocolate when he would look one of their eyes. Gavin’s lips would quirk in an unconceivable roll of the mouth. Ryan’s fingers would twitch. Jack’s gaze lingered.

And Geoff would notice.

Every time.

_Fuck._

“I like you.” Michael suddenly said and the absurdity of the loudly spoken statement almost made Geoff burst into laughter and maybe tears. He looked up in surprise, catching Michael’s strong stare and holding it. Frankly, he was surprised by the intensity of it, caught off guard and rendered speechless.

He hadn’t known Michael for more than a day. The most he knew about him was that he had a fucked up childhood and a strong desire for something more than what he’d been born into, a trait which Geoff admired. Michael’s character was strong enough that Geoff already gained a fairly accurate sense of who he was, but there was still much to this eighteen year old kid that he’d yet to see, including this. This intense passion and determination glowing in the redhead’s mocha eyes was unfamiliar to him, but not unpleasantly so. Though it sent warm shivers deep into the pit of Geoff’s stomach, a strange flame was sparked somewhere on the surface of his heart, quickly consuming the empty spaces in his chest until his entire being was burning with something he’d never experienced before. The air was stolen from his lungs and he was left breathless and shivering despite the inferno devouring him.

“I like you,” Michael repeated, “I like this. It’s… a lot different than what my mom and dad had. I haven’t even spent a fucking night here, but I already feel safer than the home I’d grown up in.” There was a short pause. “Do you ever meet those people that you just instantly crush on? Like… there’s _potential_ there?”

Geoff smiled.

“It’s a lot like that,” Michael finished, a stubborn glint steeling his eyes as he relaxed against the back of the chair.

It hadn’t even been a day and Geoff had already fallen in love with Michael Jones.

\---

“It’s a lot like that,” Michael said brazenly, crossing his arms and sitting back, feeling the muscles of his back tighten with the rising tension. Geoff’s light smile was the only thing keeping him from bursting into a nervous explanation for his small, nerve-ridden rant.

_Stupid, stupid, so stupid_. Everyone was looking at him as though his ears had detached and started singing, which was understandable because _wow –_ where did Michael get off talking to them like that? He didn’t even know these peoples’ last names. He was the awkward sixth wheel, out of place and extremely inconvenient. These people clearly had something for each other, something started long before Michael had arrived – something that didn’t involve Michael.

And yet – there was that spark.

He’d felt it when he first woke up to see Geoff standing over him in Griffon’s bar. He’d felt it when Gavin had shown him around the upstairs, opening the door to each room and curiously leaving each one ajar as he moved onto the next. Both men’s eyes held something foreign and addicting, leaving a physical trace on his skin when their gaze would hold him. Oddly intense and emotionally arousing, he found himself craving it after spending a few minutes alone, and even now as he stood in the spotlight of their stares, his heart stuttered and swelled for a much different reason than it should’ve been.

The embarrassment was still thick and strong, but a sense of pride coated his veins, and he didn’t dare apologize, even as he stared unblinkingly into Geoff’s wide eyes. There was a smile on the tattooed man’s lips and Michael was fairly sure it wasn’t a cruel one. He didn’t dare look at the others.

“You sure have a lot of spunk.”

Michael almost choked.

He had _never_ been told that before.

The words broke the tense atmosphere, however, and immediately Gavin was snickering under his breath at Ryan’s surprised observation. He supposed it was understandable – he didn’t exactly look like the definition of tough. Soon, Ray and Jack were joining in, and Michael got the distinct feeling that they were laughing at more than just Ryan’s slick comment. It was a jittery sort of mirth that wrapped around each of their breaths, and the glances shared between them were sharp with electricity.

Gavin’s mutter was barely audible through the laughter. “I… wouldn’t be against a relationship.”

They quieted instantly.

“I think soulmates sounds like a pretty sweet deal,” Ryan said bluntly, shrugging. “We already live together. Now we just have benefits?” His bravado exterior melted slightly at the end and it came out a little uncertain.

“Soulmates,” Jack said slowly, smiling. Michael was already starting to love that smile – it was so sweet it could rot his teeth. The bearded man sighed, shaking his head and grinning ruefully. “Honestly, I think I already had a feeling.”

Everyone murmured their agreement.

“It’s crazy to think that around four hours ago, you were about to leave and probably not come back,” Geoff said suddenly, looking at Michael.

“You were what?” Gavin said, sounding personally offended.

“He _drugged_ me!” Michael said defensively. “I didn’t want to go on an airplane and he fucking drugged me! How was I supposed to know he wasn’t a complete psycho?”

“You did what?” Ray snapped, and suddenly all movement in the room stopped.

Geoff’s face was eerily pale. “He wasn’t going to come if I didn’t –”

“So you drugged him?” Ray exclaimed, his anger almost visible as it rose. “Geoff – what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that you’d appreciate me finding the last link,” Geoff replied shortly, but his rebuttal was nothing compared to the ferocity of Ray’s.

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t scare him off!” Ray yelled. “I’m _amazed_ he’s still here.”

“It was just a sleeping pill,” Geoff ground out.

“That’s what they call roofies,” Gavin stage-whispered to Ryan, who smirked.

“Shut up,” Geoff told him.

“Michael,” Ray suddenly said, and Michael jumped. Ray was staring intently at him. “Geoff’s actions do not reflect on our –”

“Oh, shut up, Ray,” Geoff said, looking flustered.

Michael laughed, enjoying the playful banter, but he didn’t feel the need to contribute. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever been in a situation such as this, where there were no worries currently pressing on his mind, where there was no fear that he would be caught, where there was no more tightness in his chest.

There was something different.

The realization almost frightened him.

Michael wasn’t the same person he’d been twenty four hours ago. He didn’t understand it – nothing had happened except that he left home and met new people, but his very soul had been altered. Its chemistry had changed and transformed with the sudden addition of new properties – Geoff, Gavin, Ray, Jack, and Ryan.

Their ‘link’ was more than just skin deep, and Michael was just beginning to find that out.


End file.
